Cleaning

So, I've been going through old papers.  The best thing I could do is douse them in gasoline and burn it all.  But, you never know when you will need old papers.  My dad is a pack rat, and he would save every single sheet of paper if he could, I think.

So, when Katrina hit in 2005, we lived in New Orleans.  Everything was fucked up.  My boss didn't know if she was going to reopen the restaurant.  My husband was working harder than ever to keep up with the prep and the demand that was created by the fact that most of the restaurants were closed.  My parents urged me not to stay in New Orleans.  They dangled the allegorical carrot in front of me; if we stayed in New Orleans they would not help us buy a house or open a restaurant, and they would not support if we did either without them.  So, they so much as told us that if we started a new life somewhere else, they would help us financially when the time came.

So, we picked San Diego.  A day or two before we were supposed to drive across the country, I got sideswiped at a 4 way stop.  My husband had to leave without me, and I waited around to straighten out the business with the insurance and the car repairs.

After a couple weeks the other insurance company finally acknowledged fault and directed me to find a repair shop.  I relayed the information to my parents.  They did not want me to get the car fixed and drive it across the country, so they told me that they would help me buy a new car.  Originally, I was told that they were going to have the car towed back to Lakeland to be fixed, and then I was told to go ahead and get put it in the garage, and they would drive to New Orleans to pick it up when it was done.

Months later, I called my mom and asked for the financial assistance that they had offered me to buy a car in San Diego.  As usual, she told me to write a letter, since my dad was hard of hearing and could not communicate on the phone.  So, this is the opening of the response that I received from my dad.

(no formal greeting)

"I can recall when we give you advice you do not even give an answer just ignore it.  After all I am thinking you are the captain of your destiny the master of your soul.

I have emphasized that estimate is needed before work can be done so that the plan of work is accetable, but you give the a go head to d the work it without giving any estimate?

Now they produce an invoice based on estimate which do not include a new door date Nov 10 which do not include a new door just rebuilt the old one, probably they just put some bondo to mold to the original shape. and it ends up to the same amount.  I find it hard to communicate with people specially when the know better.

You have given the names of diferent people who can check the car for us, I felt they do not even have any knowledge about the nomenclature of an automotive system."



Then it goes on about how I am spoiled for asking for another car.  It's basically the "walking 20 miles in the snow to school" story.  Which is all well and good.  Maybe I am a spoiled brat compared to my older sisters.  But, how much of being a spoiled brat is the brat's fault?  Certainly not 100%.  A brat cannot spoil herself all on her own.  My mom's advice was to take the criticisms and insults without arguing, because he would give me the money.  He did give me the money.  Little did I know, that my silence, my "taking of the criticisms" would be perceived by my dad as me not even giving an answer, just ignoring it because I am the master of my destiny, the captain of my soul.  Why shouldn't I be though.  Why does my dad want to be the master of my destiny, and more creepily, the captain of my soul.  What does he know about my soul?  What does he know of his own soul?  I don't want anyone else but me to be the master of my destiny or the captain of my soul.

Years later, so much has happened.  But my dad still thinks the same about me.  I'm spoiled, uneducated, I don't know how to take care of a car, don't know how to communicate, and I don't take his valuable advice.

Meanwhile he has two cars that should still be perfectly drivable, sitting in the backyard, rusting and overgrown with weeds and wasp nests.

Old Poem

Here's some old poetry I found in my files


Childhood Breakfast

Childhood breakfast was a spread
on the kitchen table rescued
from the doctor's lounge
by my mother the day before.
Apple danish, cheese danish, raisin bagel
sealed in plastic with microwave
instructions printed at the bottom.
To the side, a note from my mother
scrawled on one of her prescription pads
said, "Don't miss the bus.  Love, Mom."

Self packed lunches consisted
of peanut butter sandwiches,
Oreo cookies, crushed chips
and a warm can of soda
packed in a too big grocery bag.
No note from Mom,
no special surprises included.

Dinner was never at six or seven,
My mother called at eight to say
she would be home in half an hour.
Nine o'clock she tumbled
in the front door, white lab coat
still on, pager in pocket beeping,
glasses halfway down her shiny nose.
One hand dropping patients' files,
the other clutching a bag
of fast food, trying not to drop it.
A rush to the kitchen,
bag tossed on the table,
my mother grabbing
the phone off the wall.
Ravenous, I open the bag
dumping half wrapped burger,
large fries mixed with ketchup packets.
Picking through the pile,
I felt the rubber coldness
of the hamburger bun.
I searched the crinkled paper
for microwave directions
that weren't there.



It's interesting that my dad is void in this picture.  It's as if my mom were a single parent and I were an only child.  While my dad worked in the office with my mom every day, my mom also spent lots of time going to the hospital and nursing homes to "make her rounds".  I don't doubt my mom's dedication to her job - helping people was natural to her.  I do believe that getting away from my dad and getting to chat with patients who appreciated my mom dearly must have been a respite.

As far as the time that I was "the only child" in the house goes, I spent a lot of time alone.  My dad spent a lot of time after hours at the office.  I'm sure he was doing work that could have been done faster by an employee, or on a computer, or if he weren't so OCD with paperwork, going over the details over and over.  Sure, when it comes to business being correct and in order is important, but then there's overkill.  I didn't complain about my dad not being around.  Often, when he would come home early, without my mom, I wonder if my disappointment showed.